


Not Soon Enough

by Psychoza



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cutting, Depression, FTM, Mentions of JohnDave - Freeform, Self Harm, Trans Dave, just problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychoza/pseuds/Psychoza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blade through his skin made him feel whole. Made him feel right in a sick way. So right and so disgusted with himself that he didn't need the binder to make it hard to breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Soon Enough

The blade through his skin made him feel whole. Made him feel right in a sick way. So right and so disgusted with himself that he didn't need the binder to make it hard to breath. It’s hard being a kid. It’s hard being trans. It’s hard living and just… How the hell do people make it through? Life is hard. As hard as sharpened metal hidden inside the bedside table. 

His friends are fading. Home life is rough. Bro tries his best but at the end of the day Dave is the baby girl that fell from the sky in a meteor. Not the 17 year old boy that is just trying to make it one torturous day at a time. 

Chores are harder now. Not that there wasn't a weight at his feet before, but now there is something else. All of the energy he may have had at one point is gone. It seems like with every nic and slice more and more drains away. The few people he has left don’t see it. They don’t see him feeling weak and stupid. They don’t see the thoughts in his head. What if I just walked in front of that car. What if I just dug a little deeper. I wonder if that fire hurts. I could beat someone’s skull in with that rock. I could snap my cats neck so easily. I wonder how hard it would be to break my hand. When I jerk off and choke myself I could just, not stop. If I stabbed into my eye hard enough would it kill me. How long can I hover my hand over the stove until I can’t anymore. Would anyone care?

Going to school is a mix of OK and hell. The friends that still talk to him make things nice. The classes he likes make him feel good. But the looks and talk make him want to curl up and die. How much longer until Jade stops talking to him? Until John doesn't want to date him anymore? Until Rose tells him he’s being stupid and shouldn't transition. The paranoia tell him it all the time. In the voices of everyone he knows. Bro, Dirk, John, Jade, Rose, Karkat, all of them. He hears it all the time and sometimes it becomes to much. How much longer. How much more. He never wanted this.

Teachers tell him he needs to work with the class more. Some of them call him Dave, some of them avoid a name at all. All of them say she. Substitutes are the worst. They see a girls name. Their eyes scan the rooms as they read it off and he can feel smirks on other kids’ faces as he has to sink into his chair and mutter, or yell, “the name is Dave. Here.”

Adults will either bring sympathy or disgust. Which one is not apparent at any given time? Sometimes he wants to fade away. Stop talking and just… Stop. Do nothing and give up. Curl up in a ball on the floor in an ally and just die. The thought has crossed his mind. Just don’t just on the bus dumb ass, walk and don’t come back. He wants to so badly. More than he wants to breathe. But he gets on that bus and goes home and sits in his bed in a binder and cries or cuts or fucks himself like a boy would get fucked while he presses a hand into his neck and silently begs for a breath that he doesn't want until he gets off, panting and wheezing and feeling better but worse as he notices the wetness between his legs that isn't the same as when a real boy gets fucked. So he’ll cry some more and cut some more and shower in scalding hot water in the dark. Then the next morning comes and it’s the same routine all over again. He dies a little each day.

He cuts at the mounds of unwanted chest and at his upper arms. Sometimes his hip and thigh. Depends on how disgusted he is with himself. He looks at the vein under his pale flesh and wonders. It wouldn't be hard. It would be over so quickly and he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. 

Two weeks into November he dug a little deeper. He felt sickly right. The pain he felt was describable. Like slitting your wrists on the futon while your family is out getting food. The pain fled soon. Then all that was left was… Nothing. A dull ache and the feeling of being free. He knows people will ask what he was thinking. How he could harm himself like that. What the hell was he thinking? Damn that apple juice was good today. Bro cleaned up his smuppets, someone must have ordered something. Wonder if Booth graded that pre-cal test from last week. Damn this feels weird. It’s so wet, not even hot anymore. Shouldn't it be closing up by now. How much longer til Bro and Dirk get home? Did they get ketchup? How deep did it cut this time? 

Five minutes until he started to panic. Shit band aids, where the hell are the band aids. Bros gonna notice the stain fuck. Has the house always been this hot? This fucking hurts. How much longer til

 

 

 

Half an hour for Bro and Dirk to come home. Two minutes to notice the dim light of the bathroom pooling into the hall. Three seconds to get out a phone and call 911

Still not soon enough.


End file.
